Christmas children
by Heir of Darkness
Summary: Just a little pointless fic about three of our fav -or hated- characters in HP's Christmas, when they were little ... Ron, who always complains, is in fact the lucky one. r/r


Christmas children Author's note : You know how Ron always complains that he is the unlucky, poor one and all … Well, I wrote this just to show how in fact Ron is the lucky guy … Well, the first is Draco, second is Harry, and last is Ron. 

Disclaimer : Who said I owned anything ?   


Christmas children   
by Heir of Darkness 

The little boy sat on the old leather couch, staring straight into the dancing flames of the vivid fire. He himself thought that it did not do any good to the freezing air around the enormous Hall, but there was no other ways to keep warm. He hugged his knees tighter, and harshly ordered a nearby house-elf to bring him a blanket. He then returned to gazing at the fire, wishing it could be as warm as the books described it to be … 

Deliberately ignoring the massive pile of presents under the huge Christmas tree, he turned his back to them and tried to keep his eyes open as hard as he could. His lips formed into a well-known pout, he snatched the blanket away from the elf, which squeaked in terror and ran away. 

He glanced at the ancient clock hanging down from the wall. It was ten PM. Late. Far too late for him usually to be still awake. But his parents weren't there, so he didn't care. In his childish mind, perhaps surfaced still one or two blurry thoughts, unsure hopes of what he wished … Yawn. Why did he even want his parents to be there ? Every Christmas he had ever spent was alone and cold. His Mum, he knew, was out to party at the house of some unknown friend, and as for his father … he was not sure. Should things be any different ? 

And he was there, and he didn't know what he was waiting for. He knew he'd never make it till his parents came back, but he still waited. Maybe, in his young heart, the desire that still overruled was one of hunger, for the love and the warmth that a normal family could provide ? But no, he told himself. My parents are the best in the world. And he smiled, remembering how proud his father had looked when he showed his first ability for any Magic. 

A last effort to keep his eyes open. The fire danced, and danced … So lightly, it seemed like it was flying out of the chimney … And soon all he could see was the fire, a curtain of fire, and darkness all around … He closed his eyes, and wished for his father to be there, to witness the beauty of the fire with him … Soon, the image of the void melted away, and his mind drifted off to better land, where his parents stood in a sun-stripped clearing, and welcomed him into a warm embrace …   
  
  
  
  


The skinny little boy sat alone in his closet, hungry and resigned. After all, it wasn't the first time. Twice a year, Christmas, and his cousin's birthday. Not to spoil his day, they said. Spoil ? Who do you think is spoilt ? And he ended up locked up in his closet for the day, as always. 

He could hear some of the conversation going on downstairs. Mostly Dudley whining about when he would get to open his present, apparently. He shrugged. Presents. Ha. Who needed their presents. 

He had gone down once this morning in the kitchen to prepare breakfast for them, and seen the huge pile of boxes, wrapped up in different kind of flashing paper. He had counted them. There were exactly fifteen. Fifteen. That was one less then last year. If he could get that many presents in his whole life, perhaps he would be like the others. Not. He did not want to resemble them. He was not like them. 

A great cling of cutlery downstairs. So. They were finished with the dinner. Crap. Cover your ears. No, not right now. Count ten minutes before Dudley succeeds into counting them all. A piercing scream. Oups. He under-estimated him. For seeing that he had less presents, he sure was fast. Well, as fast as he could get, anyway. 

He sighed, and sat back, leaning on one of the walls. He wondered how Christmas would have been if his parents would still be alive … No. No. Don't even think about it. He let himself fall on his bed –or what took the place of a bed for him- heavily, and punched his pillow. And one, two, three, all that into Dudley's fat little face. He pitied, him, if all he could think of was presents. Despised him. 

Drawing the blanket under his chin, he closed he eyes firmly, trying to forget about the family he had so many times longed for. Imagining things wasn't going to help. No. He wasn't like the others. He was strong, and he would survive, were others would have fallen and cried. His face felt moist. What, was that a tear ? Not opening his eyes, he wiped it away, but let the others fall freely, seeing the uselessness of the gesture. 

Smoothly, a cold draught made him shiver, but the tears were gone. And slowly, slowly, to the melody of a nearly forgotten lullaby, he drifted to sleep, in someone's loving arms …   
  
  
  


- No mum, not sweaters again ! 

Ron looked like a hurricane had just passed over their house, sweeping all the family away. Sweaters ? As far as he could remember, hand-knitted sweaters were all he had ever gotten on Christmas or Birthday from his Mum. Mrs. Weasley didn't answer, busy as she was trying to decipher which tart was canary cream from the twins and which was one of her homemade lemon-tart. 

- Mum ! Look ! 

Fred and George burst into the room from the backyard, holding a plastic bottle in their hands. From the front door came in a very worried looking Percy. All three were drenched in water from the falling snow, and Percy was vainly trying to get his glasses to look like glasses again. 

- Mum ! Have you seen Ginny ? 

That sentence seemed to sound funny to the twins, for they burst into laughter and collapsed into a heap on the floor, pointing to the bottle. Throwing her arms up in the air an leaving the tarts on the kitchen table, Mrs. Weasley rushed over to where they were and snatched the bottle away, and seconds later, five years old Ginny was standing on the floor beside her. 

- Fred and George Weasley ! That was not funny ! Apologize now ! 

But the twins never got the chance to, for a loud 'pop' at the kitchen made the poor woman rush back into the kitchen, where an enormous canary stood in the center of the room. The two identical boys got up as one and followed her, admiring their work. 

- Who is it ? Ron ? Percy ? 

The bird popped back in the shape of a very annoyed looking Percy, and the twins ran for their lives around the living-room, not stopping to catch their breath, still laughing like mad, with a revengeful older brother on their heels. 

Molly sighed, and silently prayed that Charlie and Bill weren't up to something. Awfully quiet, up in their room. And patently, Ron had gone to join them … At this moment, the clock's Arthur Weasley's hand jumped from "Work" to "Home", and Mr. Weasley apparated inside the living-room, his first gesture being to step on the plastic bottle which was still lying on the floor, and crash into a pile of abandoned sweaters, which fortunately smothered his fall. 

- Hi, love. Not too much problems with the children, I see ? 

At this moment, one of the bedroom's door burst open. Charlie's bedroom, actually. 

- DUNGBOMBS WAR ! 

Three boys, one looking fifteen years old, the other thirteen and the last one six ran down the stairs and began throwing Dungbombs at everyone present. The victims of the sudden attact all ducked, either under a table, behind the tree, into the kitchen, or, like Percy, clacked the door behind him as he left the house. 

- Where did they get these things ? 

- No idea ! 

Soon the three brothers were out of bombs, and stood on the staircase, laughing their heads off. Two identical heads first popped up from the kitchen. 

- Cool ! Do you have anymore ? 

Then Percy opened the door ajar and stuck his head in. 

- What's that nonsense ? 

Then, Mrs. Weasley stood up from under a table, looking ready to explode. 

- OK ! ENOUGH FOR TODAY ! EVERYONE GO TO BED ! 

The smiles soon left the children's face. 

- But Mum ! It's only midnight ! 

- No no no ! Take showers and go to bed at once ! 

She shooed them all out of them room, moaning, and upstairs. 

Ron was second in line for shower. They always went like that, youngest first. As he slipped into his pajama, he could not resist but yawn loudly, and when he laid on his bed, fell asleep almost immediately. Living with five older brothers sometimes was surely entertaining …   


Author's note : Finished ! Now who's the lucky guy, huh ? Ok, I realize this fic was a little rushed, but I wanted to post it !   
  
  



End file.
